


Every Me and Every You

by cicak



Category: Fringe
Genre: F/M, Secrets, connected, first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-29
Updated: 2011-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-15 05:11:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicak/pseuds/cicak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Other Olivia wrote of a ‘PB’ who should have been hers first.<br/>(Spoilers for 3x11)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Me and Every You

Olivia could sometimes still feel the after-echo of the Other Olivia’s imprint in her mind. It was subtle, manifesting mainly in two ways, an imperceptible quirk of her reflexes that made them feel a little quicker, although the tests maintained not measurably so. The other was far more personal, sometimes she caught herself smiling with a smile that felt wrong, somehow looser and more open, leaving her with the awful feeling of an imposter in her own face.

After she had placated everyone into letting her see the Other-Olivia’s file, practically forcing Astrid out of the way at one point, Olivia had been so sure it would be terrible and full of horrifying unfiltered truths and perhaps a bit of mockery that she wasn’t prepared for how nice it had ended up being, in amongst the coded messages of destruction.  
The Other Olivia had never been explicit in her diary entries. They were work files after all, always intended to be included in a mission debrief when she returned. So whilst the sordid details were not in a cypher they still were in a code that maintained discretion to everyone but herself. Whilst Astrid or one of the FBI cryptologists could have agonised over it for months with discreet discrete models, Olivia already knew how to read between the lines of her own familiar internal monologue.

The Other Olivia wrote of a ‘PB’ who should have been hers first, and not just the Peter who smiled genuinely and shared secrets and favourite books during pillow talk, but the one she had been holding her breath for, the Peter who went down on her for what felt like hours until she felt wrung out and sticky mouthed with dehydration; whose rasp of stubble she could almost feel on the inside of her thighs and between her breasts and, incongruously, behind her knees. The Peter who nudged the wet head of his cock into her with a groan and bitten cheek, managing to even fuck sweetly when she had half-expected him to be impatient and greedy and who already knew how she looked when she came, how she keened and kicked when it was particularly good and lost the use of her joints afterwards, becoming boneless and open.

In the same way she knew that there were still echoes of the Other’s faster reflexes in her synapses, Olivia knew that the spectre of the Other Olivia would be there with them should they ever end up in bed together, smiling with that wrong smile in the muscle memory of Peter’s touches, all the hidden secrets of her body already spelled out like the twists at the end of a book.


End file.
